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Description

The highly-regarded ringmaster and owner of an equally highly-regarded circus never took seriously the talk that someone was out to get him, that there was such a thing as "backroom intrigues" going on within. He dismissed all attempts at warning him as attempts to scare him into selling…or even worse.

His three big cats that he owned and cherished, the so-called Cat-a-Lina Cousins, were the most loyal to him—so much so that they acted as his enforcers were anyone to even hint at such talk. Well-meaning protection usually turned to overzealousness, such as the time when three feline detectives, even more domesticated than them, acted upon an anonymous call placed by a trapeze artist that the bump-off was to happen tomorrow afternoon during a packed big top. The lion threatened to filet them if they ever showed their face again.

Undeterred, the afternoon arrived and the detectives thought about how to be discreet. They had an idea of who the would-be killer was…but how to stop him? One of them remembered the big cats, and just as luck would have it, certain circumstances allowed them to have a huge advantage.

Stripped of their clothes, bound and gagged, the Cousins growled and wriggled as the detectives tried not to let the somewhat-ill-fitting clothes deter them. Of course, the ringmaster saw right through the disguises, but with a perfectly-timed cry of "DUCK!", the shot intended for the ringmaster was successfully avoided. Turns out the clown butler did it after all.

"How can I ever repay you?" asked the ringmaster, grateful that his ignorance of all the red flags didn't cost him due to divine intervention.

"Well," said one of the detectives, an orange tabby, "when we take you to the Cousins, tell them what happened -before- you untie them!"

The moral of the story: Never fall asleep 20 minutes before you're scheduled to go on.

P.S. If you'd like to see the big cats again, let me know!

Description

The highly-regarded ringmaster and owner of an equally highly-regarded circus never took seriously the talk that someone was out to get him, that there was such a thing as "backroom intrigues" going on within. He dismissed all attempts at warning him as attempts to scare him into selling…or even worse.

His three big cats that he owned and cherished, the so-called Cat-a-Lina Cousins, were the most loyal to him—so much so that they acted as his enforcers were anyone to even hint at such talk. Well-meaning protection usually turned to overzealousness, such as the time when three feline detectives, even more domesticated than them, acted upon an anonymous call placed by a trapeze artist that the bump-off was to happen tomorrow afternoon during a packed big top. The lion threatened to filet them if they ever showed their face again.

Undeterred, the afternoon arrived and the detectives thought about how to be discreet. They had an idea of who the would-be killer was…but how to stop him? One of them remembered the big cats, and just as luck would have it, certain circumstances allowed them to have a huge advantage.

Stripped of their clothes, bound and gagged, the Cousins growled and wriggled as the detectives tried not to let the somewhat-ill-fitting clothes deter them. Of course, the ringmaster saw right through the disguises, but with a perfectly-timed cry of "DUCK!", the shot intended for the ringmaster was successfully avoided. Turns out the clown butler did it after all.

"How can I ever repay you?" asked the ringmaster, grateful that his ignorance of all the red flags didn't cost him due to divine intervention.

"Well," said one of the detectives, an orange tabby, "when we take you to the Cousins, tell them what happened -before- you untie them!"

The moral of the story: Never fall asleep 20 minutes before you're scheduled to go on.

P.S. If you'd like to see the big cats again, let me know!